


Not Born to Fight

by saellys



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, Lightsabers, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saellys/pseuds/saellys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What he feels when he eyes the dormant hilt isn't possessiveness (not it belongs to me, not ever), but rather a sort of challenge. "Would you do something for me?"</p>
<p>Rey looks at him in that way she has, that way he missed, like she knows exactly what he's going to say. "Landing field," she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Born to Fight

**Author's Note:**

> The Force Awakens didn't quite give me an analog to the Kwoon scene from Pacific Rim, so I had to do it myself. 
> 
> Title from "Last Year's Man" by Leonard Cohen.

Rey left D'Qar, Finn has been informed, with her staff on her back, Han Solo's blaster on her hip, and Luke Skywalker's lightsaber in her pack. She returns with her staff on her back, Han Solo's blaster on her hip, Luke Skywalker's lightsaber in her pack, and half a meter of modified hydraulic casing that emits, from either end, a beam of viridian light.

"He didn't take it back," Finn observes as he watches her unpack. Before she left, she claimed a room temporarily, brought almost nothing and left with all of it, and when Finn was fit to leave Medical he moved in. There’s more stuff in the room now, his clothes, a datapad and a few chips. He found the row of marks she had started to etch into the wall, did the math and added the time he was under, then kept going until her return. Today is an X.

"He has another," Rey says, "and he asked me to mind this one. Until he's ready."

Finn licks his lips. What he feels when he eyes the dormant hilt isn't possessiveness (not _it belongs to me_ , not ever), but rather a sort of challenge. "Would you do something for me?"

Rey looks at him in that way she has, that way he missed, like she knows exactly what he's going to say. "Landing field," she says.

He knows how to spar. He has good reflexes. He has a segment of advanced cybernetics standing in for part of his spine now for several reasons; he worked through them for weeks after he woke up blaming himself. His reflexes weren't quite fast enough. He was used to weapons with weight.

It took him longer to figure out the third reason. He was a wreck. Grieving, angry, terrified for Rey, impatient, aggressive—in no condition for a fight. It's not that he would have won in a better state of mind (there were still the other two reasons), but the next time, he'll be ready.

Rey, being a junior Jedi, probably wouldn't approve of his plan to put that damn lightsaber straight through Kylo Ren's chest. She doesn't have to know until it happens.

He faces her at one end of the landing field, and her easy gesture sends the lightsaber flying into his palm. His pulse picks up.

"No stakes, remember," Rey says.

"I know that." If he karks up she’ll stop her blade in time. He’s going to walk away from this in one piece. That doesn’t make his heart slow any.

Rey ignites one end of her lightstaff and grips high on the long hilt, to match the lack of leverage Finn has. Finn counts; on five she comes at him with a shoulder-height stab. He sidesteps it and leaves his foot out, but she’s too fast to fall for that.

They perform one orbit around the point halfway between them. Rey’s next move may as well be commed ahead and charted on the tactical screens in the command center—she tucks the dark end of her hilt toward her waist and shoves the blade at him in a wide arc. Finn has no choice but to block, but plenty of time to activate his lightsaber. The blades clash and sizzle and, even in daylight, turn everything turquoise.

“You’re tense,” Rey admonishes after pulling her blade away.

There’s only so much Finn can do about that, but he wills himself to relax his hips, to breathe. “You’re holding back,” he says.

Rey narrows her eyes at him, and then nods. She shifts her grip, holds her hilt horizontal, and thumbs the switch for her second blade.

Finn’s awareness grows along with the beam. They’ve drawn an audience of Black Squadron pilots and Resistance officers a safe distance away. Off to the side stands Luke Skywalker, and that’s not intimidating at all or anything.

But that isn’t what he needs to be thinking about, because Rey is raising her lightstaff over her head. Finn takes long backward steps into the grass to avoid her attack. Rey’s green blades are so bright that everything else seems to dim as she swings at him again and again.

No acrobatics, no fancy spins, nothing but laser-accurate economy of motion that would be deadly if he was anyone else. Every time Finn dodges it’s a little closer. Each time he parries she comes back faster. He’s going to lose, he’s going to lose, and for the first time that certainty is freeing. He could lose to her for the rest of his life.

He bats away a strike meant for his side and Rey feints high, then regroups when Finn steps into it and locks blades. Finn feels the lightsabers resist each other, feels her strength against his, feels himself smiling.

Rey shifts her weight and her blade gives a centimeter and Finn might actually be able to push her back and gain some ground—and then she hooks her foot behind his front leg and pulls it out from under him. A dirty trick. You can take the scavenger out of the junkyard, and so on.

Finn’s lightsaber goes out automatically when he lets go of it to catch himself. The grass is mercifully soft. There’s some applause, but it’s scattered; Finn is well liked on base while Rey, though battle-proven, is an unknown quantity. She looks satisfied, if not smug, standing over him. She tilts her head when BB-8 trills something. “Eighty-four seconds,” Rey translates, and offers Finn her hand.

That’s some kind of record, anyway. He takes her hand, and Rey pulls him up and adds, “You’ll last longer tomorrow.”

“Keep your voice down,” Finn says as they start to walk back, though he's practically buoyant with pride. “They start betting pools for everything around here.”

“We could rig it. Make a fortune.”

That’s the most un-Jedi thing he’s ever heard. “So much for no stakes.” Finn glances at the dispersing crowd; Skywalker is gone. He presents the lightsaber to Rey.

Rey eyes the hilt. “Will you hold on to that?”

“I thought…”

“I’ll still know exactly where it is,” she says with a half-smile, and Finn can’t help but grin.

It doesn’t belong to him, but when he hangs the lightsaber from one of the utility loops on his jacket, it feels like it belongs there.


End file.
